


A Step Too Far

by pantswarrior



Series: The Cultists' Cycle [15]
Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sydney has a particularly bad night. Hardin stays, though he may regret it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Step Too Far

**Author's Note:**

> I must admit I struggle with writing this aspect of Sydney; the game canon implies strongly that he very well may have been abusive at times, the way that Hardin flinches from him, and in no way do I want to glorify that, or Hardin's continued devotion to him in spite of it. They're both complicated, extremely flawed characters, and at times have done things that are regrettable, as have we all. And is often the case, perhaps a person may learn from their mistakes.

"Sydney... Sydney!"

From the way Hardin was pounding on the door, his voice quiet to avoid attracting attention even as it was insistent, Sydney knew that he had seen it all. Staring down at the remains of the pillows and the chair, the shredded bedsheets, he bit back a shamed sigh - Hardin could still be watching. Instead, he kept his face hard as he strode to the door and threw it open angrily, just as Hardin had raised his fist to pound again. "What is it?"

Even at the irritated tone of voice, Hardin gave him a relieved sigh. "Sydney..."

He was wondering where he could even start, but Sydney was not in the mood to wait around until he decided. "Go," he said bluntly, and began to close the door in Hardin's face.

"No, no, Sydney," Hardin pleaded, actually daring to put his foot in the door so that Sydney could not shut it, then pushing his way inside. Sydney was impressed by his nerve; his friend must have been truly worried. "Don't isolate yourself - not now. Sydney..."

"What?" Sydney repeated, fixing his friend with a vicious stare. "Say what you have to say, and then leave me!"

Hardin shook his head firmly. "Sydney... you don't need to take the blame upon yourself for this. It was not your fault, you could not have stopped it..."

"And why do you think I'm so furious?" Sydney snapped, turning his back on his friend to go and stand beside the nearly ruined bed again. "If I could have done something, I would have, and we would not be having this conversation. Which, I might add, I am not enjoying in the least. Go."

The mage could hear a light sound behind him, telling him that Hardin had taken a cautious step towards him. "No, Sydney. If you would prefer that I not speak, then I will not speak... but you should not be alone now."

Sydney laughed mockingly. "What do you think me, a child? A coddled youngling that has never been exposed to the harsher side of this world? You may think me an angel, Hardin, but I am no innocent creature swaddled in light, swooning at the sight of death and loss. I need no protection - certainly not from you, as you have your own wounds from this day. Go now and nurse them, and leave me to mine."

Hardin stood firm. "I have always soothed my wounds by soothing those of others."

That was the truth, and so Sydney forced himself to remain still and silent as Hardin drew closer behind him. "I know that this does not ease your anger at all," he said firmly, his left hand tentatively touching Sydney's shoulder, pausing to see the reaction before it rested there with more certainty. Sydney only tensed at his touch, rather than flying into a rage or flinching away, and so Hardin's right arm went around the mage's waist, pulling him back to rest stiffly against his chest as he inclined his head beside Sydney's. "As well, I know what does ease it," he whispered through the blond hair, mussed from Sydney's earlier rampage. "I have offered myself; I have not withdrawn that offer. You are welcome to do whatever you please..."

"You mean whatever pleases _you_." Sydney shook free of Hardin's loose embrace easily, and turned just enough to give his friend a knowing look from the corner of one eye. "I know well that you take a great deal of pleasure in what you offer supposedly for _my_ benefit."

Hardin's head lowered a bit. "...I do. But does that make my offer worthless? Does it lessen the relief that it gives to you?"

It was tempting, very tempting, but Sydney turned away in frustration, his fist striking the wall. "Leave me now, Hardin."

"Not when there is something I can do for you. Do you not know how much I detest seeing you like this?"

"Then do not look."

"But I-"

Sydney's fist struck the wall again, this time harder, and Hardin flinched as the mage whirled about to give him a venomous look. "I am not in the mood," he said, his voice low and warning. "You seem to believe that this will be solved easily - I cut you, you bleed, the both of us drown in uncontrollable lusts and forget our troubles for a few moments. I tell you this: that would not be the outcome this time."

"That is all right," Hardin told him. "I... as long as there is something that I can do for you, Sydney, it does not matter if I get any pleasure from it."

That was the last thing Sydney wanted to hear at the moment, and his claws embedded themselves in the thin curtains over the window, tearing down through them with the most satisfying ripping noise. In his fury, he managed to pull down even the brass curtain rod, and Hardin flinched as it was hurled past him against the far wall. Even so, he reached out to Sydney, arresting his arm with one hand, the other encircling his shoulders when the mage tried to pull away. "You don't really want to do this, do you?" he whispered. "Sydney... I can offer you little aside from my own flesh. You know that I will not protest."

That was not true, for Hardin offered him everything. Sydney knew, as well, that he would accept that offer and take all he had... that he had accepted it long ago when he had not had the heart to drive his friend away, more broken than he had been when they'd met. It was bad enough to know that one day John Hardin would die for him - worse still to know that he would not even mind if he knew, for he... no, Sydney refused to even think that word, just as he refused to allow Hardin to say it.

Sydney's breathing slowed somewhat as his rage subsided into a more simple grief and frustration, and Hardin's grip on him relaxed. "Yes... Go on... allow yourself this indulgence..."

His breath still a bit too heavy, Sydney finally nodded; he could not hold out against Hardin's urgings any longer, though his friend did not realize what he truly was inciting. "Yes, Hardin..." he murmured, turning to face the larger man. He was unable to completely suppress an ironic smirk as he looked Hardin over - he'd changed out of his battle leathers and into a clean shirt and trousers. Yes, ironic indeed. "...Kneel."

Ever obedient, Hardin knelt before him, and before he had even begun to look back up again, his breath caught in a sharp gasp of pain as Sydney's claws dug into his left shoulder. He nearly choked as they tore forward through his flesh roughly, with none of the finesse or slow sensuality Sydney usually began such a practice with, and when he looked up, his dark eyes were wide with alarm.

Sydney saw his own smirk reflected there, twisted and frightening, and it only widened the smile. "I told you, this time would not be like the others," he hissed, his claws slicing quickly along the side of Hardin's neck, coming dangerously close to the jugular.

"Syd-" Hardin began, but gagged with the pain as a claw pierced the skin between his shoulderblades, pushing in more deeply than Sydney had ever gone before. "Sydney..."

"I told you to go away. You did not listen..."

Hardin's body had curled in upon itself now with the pain, so that Sydney could barely reach him. "...No..." he mumbled through clenched teeth.

It was much more an acknowledgment of Sydney's words than a plea for him to stop, and so Sydney did not. Kneeling as well, he grasped Hardin's upper arms, dragging the edges of his bladed fingers across the tense muscles below the white shirt, leaving severe gashes as he pushed Hardin onto his back on the floor. "Do you enjoy this?" he whispered savagely, kneeling over his friend.

"No..." Hardin mumbled again, looking up at Hardin through eyes glassy with pain. It was the truth; though he'd become accustomed to the pain that Sydney's claws could dispense - even had grown to enjoy it, in a sense - this was not the careful, methodical cutting that had led to such pleasure in the past. This was nothing but blatant abuse, and Hardin was too afraid for his life to become aroused by it.

"We've been together now... four years?" Sydney asked, almost in a conversational tone of voice, if not for the raw violence in his smile.

"...Nearly five..."

Claws embedded themselves in Hardin's chest, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. "Nearly five years," Sydney mused. "You know by now that I do not desire to hurt you... and yet here I am." The claws scratched across Hardin's stomach, and the pain drove his teeth deep into his lip, drawing blood. "Why do you suppose I am doing this, Hardin?"

There was nothing of tenderness in his voice, and Hardin squeezed his eyes shut against the disturbing sight of Sydney's smile. "...Because you're angry..."

"But am I angry with you?" Two claws, one from each hand, dragging through the skin from his throat to his shoulders, cutting the blood-soaked shirt away entirely in the process.

"...I don't know..."

Hardin's unspoken question lingered in the air, and Sydney answered it. "...I suppose that I am, come to think of it." Another unspoken question for him to answer lay in Hardin's eyes as they opened again in timid surprise. "I was not, until a few moments ago," Sydney told him, "when you admitted that you are not enjoying this."

"Sy... Sydney," Hardin stammered, shuddering as the claws marred the backs of his forearms. "I'm..."

Sydney's eyes flashed with fury again, and Hardin cried out at the sudden agony in his sides. "You misunderstand," Sydney purred. "You should _not_ be enjoying this." Utterly confused and frightened, Hardin chose to remain silent, or at least as silent as he could be as Sydney's claws raked over his chest viciously. "Why do you allow this, Hardin?"

The pain rendered Hardin unable to answer in voice, and even his subconscious seemed to have nothing to say, for the greyed spectre Sydney had expected did not appear. "Well?" he repeated, more impatiently. "Why do you remain?" There was still no response, and Sydney's impatience grew even deeper. "Are you afraid of me, Hardin?"

This time, the spectre appeared. I am terrified of you.

Sydney laughed again, and rewarded the answer with another furious swipe of his claws across Hardin's chest, making him cry out again. "You are physically stronger than I, Hardin. You could escape now, if you were to try. But you're too frightened..."

"N...no..." Hardin managed. "Because I... I offered... myself."

"Not to this."

Hardin's eyes closed again, painfully, dizzily. "I do not... do not go back on my word."

"Even when it may mean your life?"

"Yes... even then."

He was much closer to sacrificing exactly that than he probably realized, Sydney thought as he took note of the spreading pool of blood. Even so, his claws dug in yet again, causing Hardin's body to jerk beneath him. "Then you are a _fool_ ," Sydney hissed. "Have you so little regard for your own life? This is not the man who fled the king's knights even when all hope seemed to have vanished, after having gone to the effort of escaping from prison! You have always been a fighter, Hardin - you have never been one to give in easily. Why then do you not protest now?"

"N-not disregard for my life," Hardin whispered, his voice faint. "Regard... for you."

"For a man who does _this_ to you?"

Another motion of his claws caused Hardin's body to convulse in pain, but his cry was a quiet, weary one. "I... I... I l-"

Claws dug into his sides again. "Don't ever say that!" Sydney raged. "Why? Why should you think you feel that way?"

Hardin could not respond; his breath was coming quick and shallow through pallid lips, and again, even his innermost being had no answer. "Tell me, Hardin," Sydney demanded, "why do you allow this? You could tell me to stop, and I would. But you do not... Why?"

Again, there was no response, and Sydney grew angrier still. "Any normal man would have left ages ago! Why do you stay? Why do you allow me to do such things to you? _Answer me_ , John!"

Sydney stopped short when he realized the last word he'd uttered. He'd thought he was angry, furious - and yet he'd slipped, somehow calling Hardin by the name which he only used in the most tender, affectionate moments that passed between them. It had not escaped Hardin's notice either, and his eyes opened again to look up at Sydney in dazed surprise.

They remained, eyes locked, until Hardin's eyes fluttered closed again tiredly. He was on the verge of losing consciousness, Sydney realized, and he stood, going to stand beside the tattered bed once again as he invoked the spell of healing. This time, he did not hold Hardin in his arms as the magic flowed between the two of them, soothing away the pain and closing the wounds; in fact, his back remained turned even as he heard Hardin slowly, cautiously, get to his feet. "Go."

After a moment's hesitation, Hardin did so, but knowing that the man might still be watching with the Sight, Sydney did not allow himself a moment's weakness. Instead, he gathered the ruined sheets from the bed, the shredded curtains and the broken rod. With the latter gone, he could see that it was past midnight - long past the time that he and Hardin would usually have settled down in that bed for the night, if he had not locked his friend out earlier.

His face remained a cold mask as he used the remains of the sheets to soak up the blood that Hardin had left upon the floor, scrubbing away the last of it with the aid of the curtains, and then left the stained cloth in a heap in the corner.

His claws had cut deeper than he'd thought, he found when he returned to look upon the bed. Not only the sheets had been torn, but the mattress as well sported deep gashes from his rampage before Hardin had arrived. Though mattresses were not so easy to replace as sheets, this was not the first time it had happened, and Hardin had always found a needle and thread and stitched it up again without comment; he would not speak of Sydney's loss of control to anyone even among the brethren. So trustworthy he was...

Sydney had pushed Hardin a bit too far before, of course. When his temper or his anxiety left him in an uncontrollable state, driving Hardin from their bedroom, Hardin never complained - he simply left Sydney to himself, only to return in the morning and silently clean up the wreckage that he found Sydney sitting amidst, head in hands and exhausted.

He was a coward, Sydney thought as he lay down upon the damaged mattress, not even bothering to put on fresh linens or undress. Hardin was a coward... a faithful little puppy unable to think for himself. He would come back in the morning, and act as if nothing had ever happened... stitch up the mattress as always... bring Sydney a drink and a bite to eat, even though he rarely felt up to eating breakfast, just because today he might.

His body shook, even his metal limbs twitching, as he curled tighter upon the bare mattress. Yes - for all his courage in battle, for all his stubbornness, Hardin was a coward. Why _did_ he allow Sydney to do such things to him? Why _didn't_ he leave?

He did not deserve such treatment as Sydney gave him, and yet he permitted it. He stood steadfast, holding to his oath beyond all sensibility. That was precisely why Sydney was so angry - Hardin did not deserve to be treated in such a way for anyone's sake, in particular his.

After tossing and turning both mentally and physically for some time, Sydney gave up. The brethren were all asleep already, he noted as he walked through the hallway. All of them having had a long, difficult day, he was the only one stirring within the keep at this hour. Hardin was likely dozing as well, but Sydney continued on through the enclosure of the city's walls and into the town center.

He found Hardin just where he had expected to find him, slumped in a mossy corner by the river. He'd taken a blanket with him, and was now half-asleep and staring out at the moonlight dancing upon the waterfall beyond the ancient stone buildings, nearly identical to the one he was leaning against. Apparently he'd not been scrying, for his head raised in faint surprise as Sydney drew closer, allowing his footsteps to click upon the bricks of the dilapidated road. Warning of his approach was a luxury he did not often extend to anyone, but even so, Hardin did not reach for his sword even at the first tap, even in the darkness of night in a haunted city; he knew the distinctive sound by heart, as he knew nearly everything of Sydney by this time.

Sydney drew to a halt, staring down at Hardin as the taller man peered curiously up at him. Hardin made no move to leave, nor did he flinch away from Sydney's eyes, but met them with quiet determination. Finally, Sydney broke their silence. "John... I..."

Hardin nodded slightly, and pushed back the blanket, getting to his feet. "It's all right, Sydney," he murmured as his arms gently enfolded Sydney. "...You asked why I do not protest, why I do not leave... this is why. I know that you know it as well."

Unwilling to fight anymore, Sydney leaned upon his shoulder, warm and comforting, and let his own arms slip around the taller man's waist. It was not for the gods that Hardin stayed, but for him. It was not a good enough answer in his mind, but no matter how many times he tried to convince himself, no matter how often he found himself trying to make Hardin go before it was too late, he knew deep down that he would be lost if he did. For that matter, they both would be lost, and perhaps that would be even more difficult than death, for it had not the finality. He was selfish, and he knew it.

He allowed Hardin to guide him to the corner where he'd been seated, to ease him down beside the wall and wrap the blanket tightly around the both of them, but his trembling had nothing to do with the cool night air. He was selfish from any angle he could look at the matter from. If he kept Hardin at his side, he was placing his own wishes above Hardin's safety - but if he sent Hardin away to save his life, he would be putting his own wish for his friend's safety above the wishes of the gods. Müllenkamp needed Hardin far more than Sydney did.

Hardin had almost said the word earlier - he'd almost said it a thousand times by now - but Sydney had never allowed it to pass his lips. Having seen what passed for that word in his own home, growing up, he did not believe in it at all... but then, he'd never believed that he would consider defying the gods for the sake of a mortal. Love...

He had not realized that he'd said the word aloud, until Hardin stirred behind him. "Mmm... what was that?"

If it was from the gods, as so many poets had professed, then they'd cursed Sydney more than he'd ever imagined. "Nothing of consequence," was his reply, as he settled himself back against Hardin's chest to try to sleep. It was likely the most honest answer he could give; whether he did or did not, it made no difference in the end.

Perhaps he was the coward, Sydney thought, and Hardin far more courageous for daring to believe in its worth.


End file.
